


XY

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:31:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6053353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Shoot prompt- AU in which there never was Samaritan. Shaw had a one night stand with Tomas, and in doing so she realized just how deep her feelings are for Root because being with Tomas felt totally wrong. She goes and confesses her feelings to Root and they get together. Later they find out Shaw is pregnant and Root thinks Shaw is going to leave her. Shaw comforts her and tells her that she is never going to tell Tomas and that she wants to have and raise this child with her and only her.</p><p>XY</p>
            </blockquote>





	XY

As Sameen Shaw lays in a luxurious hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling with her chest rising and falling heavily under soft blankets and an arm around her shoulders, only one thought crosses her mind:

_This is all wrong._

Everything from the Egyptian cotton sheets to the five star room service and the man laying next to her that glows with a light mist of perspiration.

_This is wrong. He's wrong._

* * *

 

And so, she stares at the ceiling, trying to convince herself otherwise, with absolutely no luck. She begins to count the speckled spots of the popcorn paint job, and her mind wanders to only a few hours ago. The mission- stealing and being stolen from and stealing again. Her date with Tomas- his proposal of an all expense paid paradise. She thinks of Root- the jealousy on the tip of her tongue that Shaw was all to eager to both relish and ignore as she sat at the bar with Tomas, gazing into his eyes and letting his voice cart her off to a different dimension. But she's quickly finding it's not a place she wants to stay. Especially not with the sound of Root's voice echoing off the walls of her skull, making it impossible to forget- even for a moment- their last parting words.

 _'Where's_ Tomas? _' Root asked, pushing her hands into her leather jacket pockets, meandering down the sidewalk, head partially down. She was trying- and nearly failing- to act casual, yet Shaw played along with it._

_'Somewhere the police aren't,' Shaw'd replied, keeping her face straight ahead, although she couldn't help but to periodically let her eyes drift to Root. Watch the gears turn behind coffee brown eyes and long waves of dark hair. Watch her try not to smile as it dawned on her that Shaw was here- with her- and not with the dashing number. 'He gave me a pretty hard sell,' Shaw continues, feeding Root's good feelings. 'Trying to get me to go with him, and for a hot second, I almost did.'_

_'But?' Root questioned, voice all but giving away her underlying yearning to know why Shaw has remained. What drew Shaw back to her instead of running from the cops with Tomas._

_'I guess,' Shaw replies, stopping her nonchalant gate and turning to face Root head on; taking in every aspect of her glowing eyes and radiant smile. She didn't want to miss the next reaction for the life of her. 'There are things I care about here.'_

_Root's lips tugged up despite her best efforts, jaw dropping and closing as she tries to form words that will not come to her. Shaw smirked, holding in her own rumbling pleasure at the encounter._

_'And is that why you came to see me?' Root asked, such a fragile hope in her voice that Shaw could almost feel guilty about shattering._ Keyword- almost _._

_'No-'_

_'Sameen!' A voice called, just as the roar of a motorcycle grew at the side of the pavement. The biker dropped both his feet to the ground before pulling off a helmet, revealing a charming smile and eyes that could make even the worst of cynics melt. 'Hop on.'_

In that moment, Shaw had two sets of eyes on her. Tomas's- so confident and endearing as he lifted a spare helmet from the back of his motorcycle. Root's- a mixture of surprise and question, waiting to see who Shaw would choose. Correction: waiting to see _if_ Shaw would choose her.

She didn't.

And now, laying in bed with Tomas pressed to her side, it all seems like some sick sense of karma- _if you believe in that sort of thing_. Riding off with a handsome man and a promise of never having to think again, just to never stop thinking. Messing with someone in a top-notch hotel just to be thinking of someone else the entire time. _Well, why else would they call karma a bitch?_

And the more Shaw thinks about it, the more her skin crawls with the fault in it all. Everything- from the feeling of his skin against hers to his breath on her neck- she needs it all to stop. Now.

Peeling the covers off, she sits up, shrugging away Tomas's arm as she slides towards the edge of the mattress. A warm hand encases her wrist, and she halts, muscles tensing.

"Where are you going?" Tomas asks, voice muddled with sleep. She doesn't answer- can't answer- because the thought only grows in her head as he holds her wrist.

_Wrong wrong wrong._

Slipping her hand from his easy grasp, she rummages around on the floor, tugging on her clothes and pushing her haphazard hair from her face. Popping her head into the bathroom, she tries to contain it slightly for the road.

"Sameen?" Tomas calls, sitting up and stretching out his arms. Looking at him- his smile and his eyes- visions of Root's destroyed countenance flash before her as she watches herself get on the back of a motorcycle and speed off. _I am in such deep shit._

"I gotta go," Shaw mutters, tugging on her heels. The room goes awkwardly silent.

"Go where?" Tomas asks slowly, beginning to ease out of bed.

"Anywhere but here," Shaw cracks, snatching her jacket from the back of the couch.

"Alright," he replies, kind smile widening. "I was gonna get the tickets to Barcelona for tomorrow, but I'm sure I can pull some stri-"

"I'm not going to Barcelona," she cuts him off, and his smile sags. He tilts his head to the side, trying to study her with little success.

"Just think of the beaches," he tells her, voice almost as soothing as the ocean in itself.

"I go crazy after ten minutes on a beach," Shaw counters bluntly, and he laughs.

"Fine," he responds, "think of the drinks."

"I'd rather have my liver intact by the time I turn fifty."

He chuckles.

"We're rich, remember?" He reminds her, taking a few steps her way. "When it goes bad, we'll just find you a new one and you’ll drink all over again." He stops, smile dropping into near nonexistence as he watches her face set with a definitive decision. A decision that doesn't involve the heat or hard lemonade or him. "You're really not gonna come?" He asks her, defeat creeping into his voice as the light drains from his eyes.

"Enjoy yourself," Shaw tells him, and finds herself sincerely meaning it. It takes him a second to process, but at last, he nods.

"Take care of yourself, Sameen," he answers, and- with a final nod- Shaw escapes the hotel room, feeling Tomas's eyes burn into her skin even after the door closes behind her.

___________\ If Your Number's Up /___________

_Knock, knock, knock._

Shaw rocks from foot to foot, patience dwindling as she waits for the door to open. She knocks again.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Another couple of seconds pass, and irritation takes over her tired body.

_Knockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknoc-_

The door is yanked open, and Root’s tired form appears. Eyes red from lack of sleep, body slouched against the door frame, and arm still holding the door majorly closed- blocking off the rest of the apartment from Shaw. Shaw stops rocking, mind going blank as her heart picks up. Already, things are feeling better.

"I don't hide country hopping fugitives," Root responds, the despondence in her tone masking any humor that could have been entangled in the line. Peeking her head past the doorframe, she looks both ways. "You and _Tomas_ are going to have to find somewhere else to hide out." Shaw nearly laughs, hearing the way she says his name. Exaggerating it and letting it roll off her tongue with the bitter taste of poison, but she stops herself just as her lips dare to curl up, knowing now is not the time.

"It's just me," Shaw informs her, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Root raises a brow, waiting for her to continue. "Left him at the hotel." Root lets her head drop to the door frame, eyes narrowing the slightest bit as a rueful smirk flickers across her lips.

"And why would you _ever_ do that?" She asks in an almost challenging tone, yet it doesn't even begin to off-put Shaw.

"I guess bad boys just aren't my thing after all," Shaw replies, and finally, she gets a genuine smile from Root. "Your apartment was in the neighborhood; I didn't know if I could just crash here for the night." Root's eyes flash with a pleasurable surprise, and she pushes the door the rest of the way open, escaping back into the heart of her apartment and leaving Shaw no choice but to follow. Kicking off her shoes and tossing her jacket beside them, Shaw walks into Root's living room, just to find her hunched over a laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard at the speed of light. Taking a few more cautious steps in, Shaw watches Root's profile, grasping for the right words to say.

"Watcha doing?"

Root's eyes flicker over to her and back to the screen, not slowing her keystrokes as she replies. "The Machine needs me to decrypt some files; She gave them to me after you left." The coldness that tails at the end of her voice leaves Shaw to ponder a way of bringing the 'perky' back to the 'psycho.' But it's late and she's tired, and poetic words of repentance have never been her specialty.

Instead, she invites herself onto the couch, flopping down heavily at Root's side and kicking her feet up on the coffee table where Root keeps her laptop. From this angle, she almost believes she saw Root crack a lopsided smile.

"Come on," Shaw says to her, resting her head on the back of the couch and crossing her arms over her chest. "It's three a.m. Technically, it's our day off." The keys stop clicking, bathing them in silence as Root turns to face her with an adoring-and-playfully-condescending glare that Shaw never before realized was so appealing.

"Killers never stop plotting to _kill_ ," Root sighs at last, turning back to the computer. "And as long as _they_ plot, _we'll_ never stop getting the numbers." Sitting up and removing her feet from the table, Shaw rests her forearms atop her thighs, leaning closer to Root as she scans the screen, its colorful array of letters and numbers swimming in incoherent circles before her weary eyes.

"That's a pretty negative way to plan a vacation," Shaw quips with good natured chastisement, and Root turns her head to face Shaw.

"You thinking of going on a trip?" She asks, and Shaw can't help but stare into Root's eyes, trying to read into the question that is filled with so much more. It's asking if Shaw is going to leave, and would this trip be with Tomas, and that she's hoping it's not. _Such a casual exchange of words_ , Shaw muses, _but her eyes are so cryptic._

"Nope," Shaw answers at last, returning to her original position on the couch. "Not when there are people waiting to be saved in the morning." Root smiles at her, angling herself on the couch to face Shaw as she leans back, resting her head on her arm as she looks Shaw in the eyes.

"Such a _hero_ ," Root coos humorously, eyes doing a quick sweep of Shaw's features. Shaw cracks a small, quick smile, then licks her lips with thought.

"I, uh, shouldn't have left you there... earlier," Shaw mumbles, the closest thing to an apology she can muster. Root's eyes widen the slightest bit in surprise, but quickly settle back into their doting normalcy.

"Just don't let it happen," Root jokes, scrunching her nose as she pushes her hair behind her shoulder, peering back at her laptop as if contemplating escaping this foreign terrain and returning to the safety of code.

"It won't," Shaw tells her, the seriousness in her tone matching her eyes. Root can't help but feel taken aback by the statement- can't help but to think through all it could mean. She swallows a little harder than usual, presses her lips together, searches the air for a witty line, finds none, then returns to her laptop. She begins to type once more, this time slower as her mind travels elsewhere, and Shaw watches as the faintest of blushes slowly creeps over Root's features.

_________\ We'll Find You /_________

Shaw awakens to the sound of a phone buzzing and Root's breathing in her ear. Slowly- reluctantly- Shaw peels open one groggy eye. Sunlight spills through white curtains across the glass coffee table; the glint from the corner of the sleeping laptop striking Shaw directly in the eye. Scrunching her eyes shut tight, she waits until the third ring of the cell to dare open her eyes again. This time, she directs her gaze to the left, where she finds Root slumped over at her side, still asleep. She's curled up, knees on Shaw's legs and hands on Shaw's abdomen, head resting on Shaw's shoulder. Shaw finds herself torn- get the phone to keep it from waking Root, or stay put so her shuffling doesn't disturb the hacker. Yet, before Shaw has the time to decide, Root rolls her head in a slow circle, groaning as she stretches her back, straightening her arms while a yawn escapes her.

Shaw watches as Root blinks the sleep from her eyes, curiosity churning within them as she groggily turns her gaze towards Shaw. It takes a moment for realization to roll in, but when it does, it enters like a storm. Her eyes flash with lightning as comprehension floods her eyes, making them wide. Her lips part, press together, then she bites the bottom, eyes narrowing the slightest bit as she sorts through her thoughts.

"I'm going to see if the files finished downloading," Root at last speaks, voice sobered with sleep and surprise. She stretches out her legs, beginning to push away, and as she does, the coldness of the surrounding air begins to seep into Shaw's bones.

Sitting up a little more, Shaw reaches her hands out, arms circling around Root's waist and slowly drawing her back in, letting the warmth return.

"Wish you wouldn't," Shaw mutters, already feeling the smokey tendrils of sleep curling in around her. _Day off.._. her mind putts out. _Sleep in..._

Root moves away again, and Shaw's mouth twitches into a frown, despising how the frigid air painstakingly awakens her senses. Flicking her gaze towards Root, she finds Root leaning her head against the back of the couch, arms crossed lazily. Shaw raises a brow, waiting with fatigued irritation for an explanation.

"My charm finally become too irresistible?" Root asks with a light smirk, and Shaw feels a similar one crawl onto her features.

"I wouldn't call it _irresistible_ ," Shaw shoots back sarcastically, and a small laugh escapes Root in response, the warmth in her cheeks revealing some of her satisfaction in the moment. Shaw, in her own stoic way, momentarily relishes the smile on Root's face and the soft white light spilling out from behind her. Then, sharp shards of a jagged memory slash holes in her vision.

Tomas Koroa.

For a reason Shaw cannot explain, the thought of him presses down on her chest, leaving her ribs to ache and her lungs to burn. It holds the searing prongs of a secret, centimeters from branding her skin. She'd never had such an urge to spill a secret before; it had never been so unbearable to hold inside.

_I have to tell her._

"The other night," Shaw begins slowly, grabbing Root's attention. She takes a pause, wondering if this would be a moment that Harold might say 'calls for a scalpel'. _A scalpel, a scalpel, a- ah, Hell with it_ , Shaw grumbles to herself, the seconds collecting on her shoulders like tractor trailers. _It's hammer time_. "The other night I slept with Tomas," Shaw blurts out bluntly.

A haze of hurt momentarily clouds Root's eyes. Then, she presses her lips together, brows raising as her gaze focuses down. "Not that I wouldn't _love_ to chat, Sweetie, but I th-"

"It was stupid," Shaw interrupts, causing Root's eyes to train on her once again. "I shouldn't have just left you on the side of the road."

"Not like there was much for you here," Root responds quietly, although the ghost of a smile hovers before her lips at hearing Shaw call anything Tomas-related 'stupid'.

"There was you," Shaw tells her, and Root sits up before a slow, barely containable smile forces its way onto her features.

"Go on," she says, straining to hold the overwhelming excitement from her voice. Shaw, acknowledging the positive reaction, eases, rolling her eyes.

"Are you enjoying this?" Shaw asks sarcastically, holding down a smile as she watches Root's eyes brim with pleasure. Giving a silent laugh- partially due to Root and partially due to the mere realization of her next words- she continues. "I care... about you. Kind of."

Root raises a brow.

"It's not _kind_ of, but it's- more than normal. That _better_ for you?" Shaw can feel the flustered heat rising to her ears, Root's smug smile not helping.

Root leans back into the couch, face closer to Shaw's than before. Shaw can feel the drum of her heart picking up, skin prickling with unknown anticipation. Root's face so close; eyes so large.

"Sweetest thing you've ever said to me," Root purrs back in response. Shaw scoffs.

"Don't get used to it," Shaw grumbles, defenses only half-manned. Root tilts her head forward, eyes openly intrigued. "I'm not the _sweet_ type."

"Then what _are_ you?" Root challenges, leaning in ever closer; Shaw forces her breathing to remain even.

"Hungry," she answers after a moment's pause, feeling the tension dissipate. "Have anything to eat around here?"

At first, Root doesn't respond- she merely stares at Shaw, gears chugging steadily behind her eyes. Then, she blinks, and the world collapses back on her.

"Pizza left over on the kitchen counter," Root answers, not moving an inch from Shaw. A smirk curls up on Shaw's mouth, and she stands, heading towards the kitchen with a little more hop to her step.

______\ XY /______

Sitting back on her heels, shoulder blades digging into the cool bathroom stall door, Shaw swipes the back of her hand across her mouth. The sour tang of vomit sits on her tongue, burning her nose as she takes a few deep breaths, sweat beading on her neck. She stares at the toilet bowl in front of her, eyes murderous. She hadn't been this sick since she was a child; she _feels_ like a child.

Looping her fingers together around her knees, Shaw lets her head rest against the door, eyes closed. She thinks of the morning, and the morning before. Root trying to hold her hair- trying to be helpful and annoyingly flirtatious at the same time. Shaw wanted nothing more than for Root to leave her in solitude. _It's bad enough throwing up alone_ , Shaw mutters to herself, eyelids heavy, _let alone in your girlfriend's bathroom with her next to you_.

 _Yup_ , Shaw thinks with a fatigued chuckle, _I can call her that freely now_. Not that she ever would, especially not aloud. But here, in this bathroom stall with grime on the ground and tiled walls stained with years of maltreatment, it seems safe enough.

With a sigh, Shaw pushes to her feet, flushing the toilet as she steps out. Washing her hands, she takes a look in the mirror. Slightest of bags holding under her eyes, baggy shirt hanging haphazardly off one shoulder. Fixing it, she can't help to realize for the umpteenth time that her pants are a little tighter than before. Rolling her eyes and popping a mint into her mouth, she walks out, meeting up with her unorthodox team a few yards down the boardwalk. Reese, Root, Finch, and Fusco are bundled in large sweaters and scarves, all the while Shaw allows her short sleeve shirt to billow about her in the chilling breeze.

"Aren't you _cold_ , Ms. Shaw?" Harold asks as she approaches. Looking at him, she finds his nose red and cheeks pink, undoubtably yearning for his place back in front of a computer screen.

"No," she answers him, all the while the frigid air claws at her exposed skin. The cold feels good, refreshing even, with her less than comfortable sickness.

"Don't worry, Harry," Root tells him cheerily, wrapping her arms around Shaw from behind, much to Shaw's visible irritation. "I'll keep her warm."

"What did I tell you too," Fusco pipes up, leaning forward to direct his gaze at Shaw. "No PDA. You don't see _me_ doing that stuff."

"I don't see you in any _relationships_ either," Shaw shoots back bluntly, yet wriggles out of Root's grasp with reddening ears. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she swallows down a small wave of nausea. Fusco, grumbling something that the wind muffles, settles back into his place beside Reese.

From somewhere behind, a cacophonous bell shatters the serene air.

"That's our cue, Harold," Root informs him, linking her arm in his and tugging him forward.

"Our cue for what?" He asks her curiously as they start out along the boards. Even past the long tendrils of hair that conceal her face, Shaw can discern Root's brilliant smile.

"She hasn't told me yet."

Within seconds, they've melted into the crowd, and Shaw loses sight of them. An impatient minute ticks by as Shaw places her hands on her hips, itching to do something- anything.

"Are we just going to _stand_ here?" Shaw asks hotly, turning to Reese. He allows his eyes to meet hers, all the while keeping the rest of his body perfectly still.

"What else do you have in mind?" He replies, and she purses her lips.

"Oh, I don't _know_ ," Shaw comments snidely. "Maybe our _jobs_?"

" _Which_ have been pretty slow the last two months," Fusco chimes in. "If this city gets any cleaner, I might just lose _my_ job at the precinct."

"Speaking of which," Reese says, turning to the detective. "Shouldn't you be getting back there? Lunch breaks don't last forever." Although Shaw is unable to see his face, something in his voice is off. A code wedged between the lines.

"The hell are  _you_ talkin' about?" Fusco responds. "I just got off-" He stops, only furthering Shaw's interest. She takes a step out, craning her head to the side to catch a glance of them. However, before she gets the chance, the silent message is received, and Fusco takes a step back. "Alright, al _right_ ," he grunts, burrowing his nose deeper into his scarf. "It's too cold here for me anyway." Shaw holds her tongue, barely able to wait for Fusco to leave earshot before digging her burning gaze into John.

"What was _that_ about?" She demands, the seriousness in his eyes giving nothing away. He says nothing a moment, then tilts his head forward, motioning for her to walk with him. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he avoids eye contact for as long as possible. Quickly, Shaw's annoyance melts into curiosity, and then anticipation.

"Are we going to go do something dangerous?" Shaw questions, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Illegal? I could go for illegal right about now."

"How long have you been, uh, feeling sick?" He asks, voice low with caution. _What?_

"Couple days," Shaw answers in an equally slow tone, hunkering down like a cat ready to fight or flee. He nods to himself, still not looking at her. She can see the taut muscles in his jaw, and her mind begins to turn. _Is he... uncomfortable?_ "Why?" She continues, bringing a casual air back to her words. "Worried you might catch a _cold?_ " He puffs out a small laugh, smile that accompanies it not lasting more than a moment.

"Have you..." He trails off, running his tongue across his teeth before letting his hands fall at his sides. Aggravation begins to fester at the corners of Shaw's mind, tired and sick and impatient.

"Have I _what_?" She spits. When he doesn't answer, she stops, stretching a hand out and grabbing his forearm until he is forced to look at her. "Have. I. What." She snarls.

"Have you considered that you could be pregnant?" He asks, the words grudgingly escaping his mouth, heavy with silent dread. Shaw can't help the cruel laugh that meets her lips as she shakes her head, looking away and back with the idiocy of it all.

"You _do_ know how babies are made, _right_ John?" Shaw asks in a humorously condescending tone, looking up at him. "Because if not, the two of us are going to need to have a serious talk." His eyes flicker with unamused vexation, and Shaw can't help the triumphant smile that creeps onto her features.

"Yes," he answers stiffly. "But I think we _both_ know it could be a possibility, and _you're_ too stubborn to face it-"

"I'd say I appreciate the concern," she responds sourly. Her mind flashes back two months to Tomas, and she instantly sees red. _I never told Reese_ , she growls internally. _He has no idea what he's talking about._ "But I don't."

"Shaw-"

"It would take a _hell_ of a miracle worker to conjure up what you're saying," she interrupts him, starting to walk away, obviously riled.

"You ever heard of a Virgin Mary?" He calls sarcastically after her, not bothering to follow. She grinds her teeth before replying.

"I've heard of a _Bloody_ Mary," she yells back over her shoulder, shaking her head in irritation. "And I think I could go for a couple of ‘em right now." With that, she makes herself disappear into the throng, not wanting to be followed by anyone- Reese most of all- as she angrily steers herself towards the nearest convenience store, mind reeling as the possibility she'd continued to push away finally bursts to the front and center of her attention.

_______\ Person of Interest /______

" _Shit!_ "

Root closes the apartment door behind her, eyes widening in surprise. Not bothering to kick off her shoes or discard her jacket, Root meanders into the depths of Shaw's flat, wondering where Shaw is, and what she's swearing at.

"Shit, shit- _shit_."

Something is thrown, and it makes a loud crack as it connects with a wall. _Where?_ Root thinks, eyes scanning every area of the relatively unfurnished space. She'd come by to pick up her laptop- she'd left it here the night before- only to walk into a mystery. Passing her laptop bag, she continues into the apartment, stopping before the bathroom door.

Closed.

Locked.

Root hears a loud bang erupt from within, and she pauses, counting to five before placing her ear against the door and giving a short burst of knocks. "Sweetie? You _okay?_ "

Everything goes fatally silent.

Biting her lip, Root debates the pros and cons of picking the lock. It doesn't take her long to decide the negatives are superficial at best. Yet, just as she bends over to begin work on it, the latch clicks, and the door creaks ajar a crack.

Tentatively, Root pushes it open, only to find Shaw pacing back and forth across the small area of the bathroom. She can't help but notice the fresh plaster break in the wall beside the mirror, and the blood on Shaw's knuckle. Her shirt is thrown in the corner, tank top rolled up above her abdomen and jeans unzipped, and her eyes are alive with a cocktail of fury, disbelief, and concern. _A rare, rare combination_ , Root decides, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. Still, Shaw paces, apparently stuck in her own thoughts as her eyes continuously shift, always three things at once, but never the same set for more than a second.

" _Sameen?_ " Root calls out warily, unsure what else to do. Blinking a few times, Shaw stops, finally breaking from her chance. "What's going on?" Shaw's eyes land on her, processing. She licks her lips, then gives one, curt nod.

"I'm gonna _kill_ Reese," Shaw seethes, and Root raises her eyebrows, thoroughly stumped.

"Why?" She asks, head beginning to spin. She'd never seen Shaw's features this animated, nor this cryptic. What makes matters worse is that everything in her eyes is still shifting. One moment shocked, the next elated, the next murderous, and the next consumed by thought.

"I'm pregnant."

It takes exactly four seconds for Root to comprehend the statement. Four seconds of total blankness before dawning draws her eyes wide and leaves her jaw slack. The three syllables grow into words with meaning, and from there take flight. She holds her breath, not sure what to make of anything. Then, the only thought that registers in her obliterated mind falls out.

"With _John?_ "

"What? No," Shaw responds, eyes crude as they ask how Root ever came to that conclusion. " _God_ , no." Root's chest loosens, but only for the moment. Because, before she realizes it, her muscles all coil, mind drowning in the darkness of dread.

"Then, the only explanation is..." she trails off, not wanting to say it. Not wanting such a demon to come to life. So, Shaw says it for her.

"Tomas."

The breath is sucked from Root's lungs as she slumps down the door the slightest bit. Her vision tunnels as thoughts bombard her from all sides. The idea of Shaw as a mom. An entire ocean away. On a beach somewhere with Tomas. Forgetting her so easily, and after she'd finally made a step forward with Shaw. _Gone. She'd be gone._ Her chest starts to burn as her gaze drifts down to Shaw's stomach- it's nearly impossible to tell.

"Uh, Root?"

Root forces her eyes shut tight, then presses her lips together before bringing her gaze to meet Shaw's. She finds her throat sore, and she's barely able to coax it into functioning.

"I guess this means you're going to... find him... tell him." She struggles to remind herself that pain is in the head and not the heart, as her chest feels ready to spontaneously combust, charring her heart until it’s as dark as her troubled head.

Then, she hears Shaw's laugh.

A faint, light chuckle that is almost swallowed up by the white noise of the room, it manages to find its way to Root.

"And _why_ would I do that?" Shaw asks, amusement tangling into the condescending tone of her voice. Root tilts her head to the side ever so slightly, eyes scanning Shaw's.

"So you can raise your kid in Barbados or Bermuda or wherever the hell he-"

"Barcelona," Shaw corrects with a coy smirk; it doesn't help to brighten Root's mood. She'd never realized how much more an emotional ache could hurt than a physical one until now. "And I'm not going anywhere." The veil of despair begins to rise from Root's eyes at that, and she stands a little straighter.

"Really?" Root asks, hope inching out from its hiding place. Rolling her eyes, Shaw pushes her tank top back down, zipping her pants and reaching for the test strip from the shower. _Probably the first crash,_ Root realizes as Shaw discards it.

Shaw peers at her a moment, as if to decide whether or not Root really is asking. Then, she leans on the sink, folding her arms.

"I already left you once," Shaw tells her, more seriously than Root expected. "Not making that mistake again." Root can feel the smile tugging at her lips, pulling them wide to reveal her teeth. In return, Shaw smirks. "Besides," she adds, tone more humorously cold, "with what Harold pays me, I'd _never_ be able to afford a good plane ticket."

Root narrows her eyes, pushing up from the bathroom door to take a step in Shaw's directing.

"Very funny," she responds dryly; Shaw cannot help but to chuckle. Then, she stops, pressing her lips together as she peers up at Root, a definitive light finally holding in her eyes.

"It's just you, and me, and this," Shaw assures her, pointing down at her stomach. An army of butterflies begin to storm through Root's chest, lifting her heart and carrying it away. While she holds her composure as best she can, the secretive smirk on Shaw's face lets her know some of the overwhelming elation is leaking to the surface.

"Sam?" Root asks, unable to keep the amusement from her tone. "How long do you expect to keep ' _this_ '-" she gestures down "- from the boys?"

Shaw's mouth flickers down in a dismayed slant. She doesn't respond.

"They're going to figure it out at _some_ point," Root points out, and Shaw's frown grows.

"Then let them," she replies simply.

"If _you_ won't, _I_ will," Root warns, instantly earning herself a red lit glare from Shaw.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Shaw snarls back in a dangerous tone, one that fills Root with the utmost affection.

"I told Harold I'd meet him at three," Root says, voice like a hint that yes, she _does_ dare. Before Shaw has time to react, Root slips from the bathroom, heading towards her laptop. She only gets a few feet before Shaw's flustered tone makes her freeze.

"I _swear_ ," she threatens avidly, causing a robust grin to to spread on Root's features. "If you tell him, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Root asks cheerily, spinning on her feel to find Shaw hazardously close. Shaw- now forced to crane her neck back to look Root in the eye- clenches her teeth, mind drawing a blank. After leaving the challenge out there a moment more, Root raises an eyebrow. _Check and mate._

Shaw sighs. "Fine," she grudgingly gives. "But Reese can _not_ find out he was right about this. _Understand?_ "

"Loud and clear," Root coos in response, and Shaw takes a step back, satisfied- for now. And then, looking at Shaw, a something Root never thought she'd say, nor thought would ever bring her such joy crosses her mind.

_I'm going to be a mom._

**Author's Note:**

> In other business…..
> 
> BABY NAMES, PEOPLE
> 
> (I have a couple more prompts involving children approaching anyway, so) IF ROOT AND SHAW HAD A BABY, WHAT WOULD THEY NAME HER/HIM???? Let me know what you think!!!


End file.
